


We Don't Run

by kurushi



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurushi/pseuds/kurushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They left their names behind in Tsenoble. She had a way of knowing when it was time to leave, and getting gone, but he didn't call her mother and he never called it running. Sky pirates don't run, unless it's towards the prize.</p>
<p>Inspired by the idea of Fran and Cid having a relationship in Reins of History, though the stories bear little resemblance to each other otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Don't Run

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by [Reigns of History](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3494499/1/Reins_of_History) by PookahSeraph, a Fran/Cid pairing story. I became very taken with the concept of Balthier having a filial relationship rather than a sexual or romantic one with Fran, and the change in reading that gave to the lines like 'Fran knows men' that I winced at during the game. The rest comes from a conversation with Yasuhei about how Fran would feel about having those two different moments of exile in her life. I chose Mrs. Bunansa's name in the pattern of previous Cids' relationships (In particular my favourite Oglop's lovely Hilda), and have no idea about who Balthier's mother was supposed to be in XII's backstory. I was lazy and have fuzzily fudged the years rather than making a chronology. Forgive me, and please let me know if it feels off.
> 
> This is my first Final Fantasy fic, and though I've been writing for years, I feel very unsteady on my feet in this fandom. There's so many brilliant writers I'm in awe and feel like a complete hack in comparison. I'd love to get some feedback on characterisation and storytelling within the world.

It felt as if it was Eruyt Village all over again, standing on the threshold like this.  The same silence, the same sense of bridges burnt and emptiness around her.  There were two notable differences.  One, the brush of Ffamran's sleeve against her elbow as he tried to keep up with her long stride.  Two, that she would not delay acting upon her choice.  Things as they were, there was no need to wait or pack.  If anything, acting now would be in their best interests.  
  
'Let's go back, I'll punch the bastard.  I'll kill him where he stands,'  Ffamran fumed beside her, tried to grab her and turn their course in the direction of youthful violence.  His Judge's outfit protested the quick motion with a whine and a clank.  
  
She was composed.  'You will not.  It was not intended as an insult, and even if it were, it has not had its intended effect.'  She pulled away and kept walking with calm, even stride.  
  
Ffamran gaped, lagged behind, and hurried to catch up.  'Something has to be done about it!  You cannot let him treat you like that.  I can't let him treat you like that.'  
  
They reached their destination, and she paused at the door to give Ffamran a good, long look.  He would be capable of surviving, she decided, but not without scars.  He would receive far worse with time if he stayed.  
  
'Perhaps those words belong on my tongue, child.  Let us look upon her, now.'  
  
Ffamran pouted like he was still a babe, but input the access code nontheless.  'I don't think that blowing off steam in the engine bay is what you need right now.'  
  
'Believing that you know what I need, I think, is a trait you strongly inherit from your father.'  
  
It was a dirty tactic, but it kept Ffamran quiet.  She went about things as normal, partly for the cameras and partly for the sake of thoroughness.  She examined the engine, checked the wiring and oil levels.  She closed panels tightly, stored all the specialist tools neatly away in a toolbox, and there she deviated.  She took the toolbox into the ship, secured it in the cockpit, and returned to the hangar.  
  
Ffamran looked confused, suspicious.  Good.  He was a fool but not an idiot, something she was grateful for.  When she stepped up to the workbench where they stored the emergency gear, he was close behind her.  
  
'Carry those in,'  she nodded at the larger tools.  Unlikely that they would need to use them on the ship, or have the fuel to run them at all, but there was value in Draklor technology.  Anything valuable that they could carry, would go.  
  
'This?'  Ffamran held up a large wooden case that had been stored under the bench.  'It's Evra's.  He's been working on modding this gun, and...'  
  
She cut her hand through the air dismissively, and pointed to a portable magicite planer.  'Draklor is valuable, but a personal grudge or traceable item is not.  See if he kept food here.  That we can eat.'  
  
Ffamran sighed, and got to work.  'Just one of these days, I'd like to be trusted with a gun.  Swords bore me so.'  
  
'Subservience and capture bore me.  Hurry.'  
  
They hurried.  She was accustomed to the size of moments and experiences like this, where ten minutes had passed feeling like a year and the world lagged behind you as your heart caught your mind up in the aftermath.  For Ffamran, this must have been a first.  He leaned back against his chair and his breath came in shallow, fast gasps.  
  
'Blast.  Shit.  Hell!  We did it.  Treason and, and... I never believed you would leave him, not in a million years.'  
  
She shrugged.  'Again, I feel perhaps I should be the one saying these words to you.'  
  
Ffamran laughed out a sob, and reached to unbuckle his armour.  'Living in the dorms, I missed you.  If I'd stayed at home, maybe...'  
  
She gave him a sharp look and turned her attention back to the skies that they flew.  
  
'What do we do now?  Nobody's giving chase.  Should we go visit your family, S-'  
  
'That is no longer my name.'  
  
Ffamran didn't seem to know what to make of that.  He had been too young to remember some of their most early conversations, about how she had lost her name when Mjrn and Jote had lost their sister.  
  
'I have left behind two homes now.  When I left the first, I abandoned the name that they gave me and found my own in Archades.  The moment that laboratory door closed, I realised that I no longer possessed that name as my own.  It is not accurate to describe who I am.  I am no longer that person to those people.'  
  
'Oh.'  Ffamran stared at the dials and switches in their cockpit.  'So does that mean that we should rename...'  
  
She laughed, and shook her head.  'Strahl is a fitting name for a tool of the empire, particularly one stolen from them.  Let her own it.'  
  
'A... all right, then.'  Ffamran seemed at a loss, crashing and stalling as the adrenaline left his system and Archades vanished into the horizon.  
  
When he had calmed down enough to go and make tea in the kitchenette, and they were watching clouds pass on the wind, he seemed to be better adjusted to everything.  He was smart enough to be asking the right kind of questions again.  
  
'How does one go about finding a new name, then?'  
  
She smiled.  'Are you planning on finding your own?'  
  
He raised a hand in the air and dropped it.  'I do not know.  Only that I feel that I maybe never was the person that was called Ffamran. Half my life has been someone else's, so far.'  
  
She sipped her drink and closed her eyes.  If you pretended, you could almost imagine that the hooming buzz of an airship was as alive as the soothing green harrumphing of the wood.  
  
'If we were to name each other, as we see each other, it would bind us together as family.'  
  
He watched her, and she watched back.  He was unsure, but there was his father's smirk in the corner of his lips, just waiting to come out and crow with laughter in the face of the world.  
  
'Shall we do that, then?  Perhaps I should be proprietary and name you after myself, abuse the privilege.'  
  
She raised an eyebrow.  'I would adapt it to suit myself, in gender and language.  Fran is not a bad name.'  
  
He seemed shocked at that.  'Fran?  Hm, I suppose it isn't at that.  But that can't be the right name for you, it's too...'  
  
He waved a hand in the air, searching for a word.  Fran caught his wrist and placed his hands in his lap.  
  
'It is too late, it has stuck to me now.  As for you, I have no idea.  You have had too much connection and meaning placed upon you, and it has never sat well.  A name with significance would force you into shapes you should not be, and we already have an example in your family of what that can result in.'  
  
She had not meant to think so tenderly about Cid so soon, but there was a hitch in her breath and a burning pain in her eyes.  She bit the inside of her lip and forced slow breath through her nose.  
  
'I shall call you Balthier, because it has no context or meaning for you.'  
  
He cocked his head.  Balthier, the name of a vagabond and a sky pirate, if ever he'd heard one.  
  
'Why not, then.  In that case,'  he crossed his legs on top of a panel and laced his fingers behind his head, 'let us go where fits us, to Balfonheim.'  
  
Fran shoved at his knees until he overbalanced and lost his drink into his lap.  She looked down at him as he swore and fussed over his ruined trousers.  
  
'A child of sixteen, Balthier, does not shame his mother by suggesting such tasteless things.'  
  
Balthier pouted and huffed, and looked down at his clothes again.  'You are not my mother,'  he insisted, for all that he looked a little ashamed.  
  
'Then I shall act in her stead lest you trip over your father on his way to her grave.'  She could see the moment that the day caught up with him, and he realised that there were some familiar old arguments between them that could never be had again without fresh pain.  He was stumbling over his own tongue to find a way to apologise, looked near close to tears, but guilt was not what they needed.  
  
'There will be nice enough tailors in Rozzaria to suit you, but we can stop in Dalmasca tomorrow to replace your uniform with something more suitable, and trade for supplies.  There are a lot of hunters there, and a pistol will be an economical choice.'  
  
* * *

 

Trips to Hilde's grave were nowhere near as solemn as Strjl had expected them to be. She had not personally participated in this type of memorial before, and had gathered from Hume literature that it was a solemn task. Instead, Cid carried a brightly decorated basket of food. Ffamran was dressed in his favourite clothes, shiny new red leather shoes, and with sparkling anticipation in his eyes.

 

'I had expected something different.'

 

'Yes, well, I like to save grave behaviour for the anniversary of her death.'

 

Strjl wrinkled her nose at the hideous pun and left Cid to handling Ffamran, herself to take in the shape and form of the cemetery. It was wide, broad, green and still. Cultured and kept gardens and turf, so closely maintained that the effect for Strjl was the emphasis of death. This was not a place for plants that lived, or for people, at least in the design of Archades. How anybody could remember their loved ones surrounded by such surreal symbolism was a bit beyond her comprehension. Did they remember them alive, or dead? Did they remember them at all?

 

Ffamran caught the concern in her eyes and wandered back Strjl's way. 'Did you bring her a present? I got her a ribbon this year. I think she liked ribbons.'

 

'I am sure she did.'

 

Ffamran ran back towards Cid, who was setting a blanket out on the grass and lifting things out of the basket. 'Father! What did you bring Mother?'

 

Cid waggled his eyebrows at Ffamran and poked the boy between the eyes. 'It's a secret. You know that parents have secrets that children cannot be told.'

 

Strjl knelt on the edge of the blanket and sat with her legs folded beneath her. The edges of the grass itched against her shins.

 

'Oh come on, that's not fair! It's her _Birthday_. ' Ffamran was in a good mood, and he did not notice in his enthusiasm that Cid's gaze was turning inwards and his smile faltering.

 

Strjl snapped her fingers to draw Ffamran's attention, and made sure his eyes stayed glued to hers, to give Cid a moment of relative privacy. 'He brought her lunch, of course, and birthday cake.'

 

Ffamran thought about that for a moment, and was pleased enough. 'Good. She's happy with that.'

 

Any other day, and Strjl would have asked Ffamran how he knew to speak for another's satisfaction. Instead, she inclined her chin, smiled, and handed him a sandwich. As Ffamran ate, Strjl allowed herself to steal a glance at Cid. He was turned to face Hilde's headstone, mouth relaxed and neutral but his eyes wet and glinting in the midday glare of the sun. He did not notice her, as he turned to watch Ffamran, and she had the chance to see life, love and warmth return to him. He looked soft, happy, grateful. She had never seen that expression in a Hume's face, in her whole long life. It was how she imagined her own face appeared, when her thoughts turned to the wood.

 

She watched too long. Ffamran ignored them for a game with his bread crusts and an overturned cup. Cid turned to her, noticed her observation, and instead of his usual joking smirk he simply watched her in return. She had no idea what she looked like, what her expression was. She felt she was floating a little removed from herself, and the slow increasing warmth in his smile was disorienting. This was more than the comfort of bodies that they had found in each other. It was other than friendship. It was not something that Strjl thought was hers to experience, and as soon as she could force herself to, she turned away to join in Ffamran's game.

 

* * *  
  
When Balthier was asleep, the softness of his breathing and the way he curled his hands around empty space reminded Fran of when he had cradled a stuffed toy in his arms. Before school, before his friendships had turned to politics.  It was hard to see anything other than young Ffamran, heart-sore and full of hope and fear.  Fran knew that she would have to persevere, work hard at knowing the man that Balthier would become after Archades more than the boy that she had known back then.  She had expected the other aches of parting – the loneliness, the desire to return to love, the sense of betrayal and rejection, craving the bed and arms of her lover.  She had not expected that the hardest part of leaving was in taking somebody with you.  
  
How could she have left him there? There had been no choice in it.  It was a crime against the person that Cid had been, if he had ever been that man she had seen in his eyes.  It was an injustice to Hilde and her duty that Fran had assumed alongside Cid, to see Ffamran into adulthood.  Not turned into a pawn, nor forced to mimic another's will.  Ffamran mied Bunansa would have been a glorious man, full of life.  This new man, new life, Balthier, had just too much short of nothing.  He had the pain in his heart and no joy of family.  Had that girl Fran had been ten years ago carried that same fragility in her expression?  She remembered her first exile as a triumph of her bravery and strength of will.  She had cried her first night alone.  The hunters in Jahara had fed her and bundled her close to their fires the next day.  She had thought it respect or the solidarity of survivors, but looking on Balthier as he slept, she supposed that they had seen a little lost girl, cold from the winter, shivering.  
  
Fran slipped her hand into Balthier's, and stroked her thumb along the side of his palm.  Slow, rhythmic, and this time around the tears came slowly and she did not sob.  
  
They ate Evra's stale sandwiches for breakfast and caught up their current position with the charts they found in the cockpit bulkhead.  She handed the final third of her meal to him – he was still growing and needed it more – only to find his head hanging low and his eyes on the deck.  
  
'Balthier?'  
  
He mumbled something, under his breath.  
  
'You are none of those things, or we would not be here now.'  
  
Balthier looked down at the sandwich.  'Last night, I was angry.  You _are_ mother to me, and I...'  
  
Fran had to laugh.  That was his concern?  'Only apologise as much as you would normally.  Do not let our situation make you forget that I have survived the rest of your adolescence.  If you truly had meant your words, I doubt you would have shared them with me like that.'  
  
'Right.  Thanks, I guess.  Sorry.'  Balthier took a bite and turned to the maps.  'Where were we, then?'  
  
'I think that we were discussing latrine duty, as it so happened.'  
  
Balthier groaned in defeat.  'I don't suppose there's any chance of negotiating?'  
  
'Not this month, at least.  Once you can fly properly, we can discuss the matter.'  
  
'They do teach Judges the basics.  I can fly!'  
  
Fran smiled tightly.  'Yes, and as I said, once you can fly properly, it will be relevant.  Live cleanly as I do, and you will have little to worry about in any case.'  
  
Balthier raised a very specific finger to her and went aft to bang about in the living quarters.  'If I'm on cleaning duty, can I have the captain's room?'  
  
She could deny him nothing, in all honesty.  'You may.'  She heard him throw himself down on the double bed – sound carried in The Strahl – and there was more amusement than soreness in her chest when she called out, 'Wash the sheets before you use it!  Remember which two Archadians took an overnight test flight last week.'  
  
'Ugh, that is disgusting! I shouldn't have to know those kinds of things!'  Balthier made furious noises, stripping the bedsheets and throwing himself into the shower.  
  
* * *  
  
Rabanastre was busy and energetic, for all that there was sorrow in the eyes of the poorer inhabitants, they still had free agency to access the paved streets and public facilities.  It was a welcome change from Archadian aristocracy.  With _The Strahl_ docked in the Aerodrome, it had only taken ten promises that no thief would touch her to convince Balthier to leave her behind.  She was all they had left in the world, and it was obvious that Fran had underestimated how Balthier's materialism would affect his anxiety.  It was a good thing that they had enough on them to obtain new possessions.  
  
'There's Viera here, all over the place, and beggars, and... it's so busy.  It smells.'  
  
'Not as much as your manners.  Do you remember what I told you, once?'  
  
They took the stairs that led into the city proper.  Balthier's neck craned, taking in the sights of architecture and culture around them.  'All that stuff about tidiness?'  
  
Fran pinched his ear.  'Life is messy.  Archades is only clean and neat at the expense of the money, food, and space its nobles steal from those beneath them.  They do not know community, because they tread upon their own families.  Watch, and learn.'  
  
It was a bit heavy-handed for a life lesson, but she was tired and wanted to get out of the sun.  Into a mechanic's shop, or a trader's, to add to the purse she had on her.  So as not to lose him in the crowds, she laced her arm through Balthier's and tugged him along.  
  
'If you want me to observe, shouldn't we stay still enough to look?'  
  
'When we get there.'  
  
In the end, they sold quite a few of their tools to a sundries dealer, a Seeq, who agreed he could make a good profit in selling or loaning them to someone local.  It did not concern Fran, so she did not ask.  What mattered most was that there was enough coin in their hands to cover their needs for clothing, food, basic protection, and some left over for insurance against injury or pursuit.  She counted it out twice, and then counted half out again into a wallet that Balthier held open for her.  
  
'That part is yours, the rest mine.'  
  
Balthier's salary as Judge had been paid into the Bunansa family accounts.  He had known large sums of money, but never held it in his hands like that. Enough for six months food, by Fran's reckoning, if they were wise about things.  
  
'Are you sure?'  
  
Fran gave a warning glance to the Seeq to silence any curiosity.  To Balthier, she said, 'I will know, if we are separated, that you can complete your shopping independently.'  
  
'Oh.  Oh.  Yes.'  Balthier tucked the money away, and Fran gratefully picked up her own.  
  
'It has been a pleasure doing business.  I shall be sure to call again if we have anything you may find of interest.'  
  
'Oh, the pleasure all mine, I assure you.  Great thanks.'  
  
They smiled and shook hands and nodded, and then they were free in the crowds again.  
  
'I forgot for a minute in that room, that if I get lost from you here I would have nothing.'  
  
Fran looked in the window of an arms dealer, trying to determine from the display items whether or not the craftsmanship was worth entering.  'It is not so much getting lost that I worry about, but getting found.'  
  
'I doubt anybody has noticed our absence, yet.'  
  
Fran decided it was.  She pushed open the door.  'Trust me, our absence was noticed nearly the moment I made my choice to leave.  It only depends on whether or not we are worth chasing.  I hope that we are not.'  
  
The shopkeep laughed as he caught the end of their conversation.  'Fugitives?  Ah, everyone is on the run these days.'  
  
Fran shrugged and looked pointedly at a bow sitting on the rack beside the counter.  'I left the father behind and kept the son.  If only we could blend into a crowd easier.'  
  
Balthier spluttered beside her.  
  
'Aha, of course.  May I interest you in this?  Well oiled since the day I bought it, good, solid wood.  Clean, tight strings and I can guarantee they are tested against weaknesses.  My very own, my pride.'  
  
When they left the store, Balthier turned a bright shade of pink.  'He thinks we are... you phrased it so... that is just...!'  
  
Fran inclined her head.  'Viera are long-lived, and there are many rumours of the like in Ivalice.  It is better that they remember the stereotype or confuse us with an urban legend than how very Imperial your shirt is in its cut.  We should find clothing, next.  This way.'  
  
Shopping was exhausting.  When they had finished unpacking everything and, on Balthier's insistence out of military habits, writing up an inventory of their supplies, she cast off her long skirts in the Bunansa colours and rinsed away every last trace of Hume civilisation.  She worked quickly, not wanting to waste water while in a desert, and dried herself.  It was comforting to dress in clothing that marked her as a Viera, even if she had in the past objected to the ways that men viewed her with leery eyes.  
  
Balthier was fiddling with the foppish buckles on his new boots when she joined him in the cockpit.  
  
'If you cannot learn to use them, we can exchange them for something simpler.'  
  
'No, no, hang on.  I'll get them right in a second.'  
  
Fran left him to it.  Get the boy in this mood and he'd never admit defeat.  She got to work serving up a meal of bread, cheese, and some fresh dip found in the markets.  
  
'W-hat the hell are you wearing?!'  
  
Fran wiped her hands on a cloth and carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary.  'My clothes.'  
  
'But you're dressed like a... a...'  
  
'A Viera?'  
  
Balthier paced back and forth, as if he was facing a large conundrum.  'Well, yes!'  
  
'I am Viera.'  
  
She turned, handed him a plate, which he took on his next loop of the ship past the kitchenette.  
  
'I'm not blind, dear lady.  Still, you have always been more than that.  Like us, I mean.'  
  
Fran held her breath, gave her anger time to cool down, and chewed on some bread.  It was good dip.  
  
'What you mean to say, child, is that you did not see Viera as part of the 'us', only myself as long as I played by Imperial cultural values.  I refuse to blame you for the failings of your – our – people.  Or, perhaps, your gender.  I had no idea that you shared the common view of my race as...'  
  
Fran was getting too upset, letting her emotion through in her voice.  She set her plate down, crossed her arms across her stomach, and swallowed against it.  It was not Balthier, nor even attitudes towards Viera, but the pressure of other emotion inside.  Would Cid look for them?  Would he respect their need to live free of his obsessions? Did she even want him to?  
  
Balthier was saying something, but her head was too hot to hear him.  She shook her head and strode as fast as she could to her bunk.  With the door shut behind her, Balthier's voice worried and indistinct through the walls, and the hysterical shudder-shake in her fingers, she knew that she had pushed too far and too fast.  She should have expected this to come falling down heavy around her shoulders, once she felt secure enough to relax.  
  
She sobbed so hard that her throat hurt, and let herself fall onto the mattress.  Her skin itched like this.  She rubbed at it, and as she peeled off her leathers and folded her arm-guards and boots back into their boxes and bags, she realised that she had been more concerned with proving herself to herself than with what she had been asking of Balthier.  He needed stability.  She put her Archadian dress back on without washing it, but she rinsed her face clean before she opened her door again.  
  
Balthier had eaten and cleaned things up, though he had left her plate where it sat on the bench.  He was curled in on himself in a chair in the cockpit, eyes staring hard at a gauge that was inactive.  She sat down in the chair behind him.  
  
'I'm sorry.'  His voice was flat and empty.  
  
'You have nothing to be sorry for,'  she explained, 'when you have never known my kind fully.  We are family and I should have thought before changing so significantly, in a way you could not have anticipated.'  
  
Balthier scowled at her.  'Not that.  Honestly, Fran.  I'm a man now, I should be able to differentiate, understand.  Act my age and not like an ignorant boy.  I should not need the props of emotional succour to hold my sense of self aloft.'  
  
Fran ran her long nails through the hair on the back of his head.  'I justified the purchase with necessity, but in all honesty I wanted to wear something that reminded me of my mother.  There is no shame in needing warmth.  And now you can have my old appearance, returned to you at least until washing day.'  
  
There was not anything much to say.  They sat there and looked at the walls of Rabanastran hangars, stone and dust.  Everything was quiet.  
  
'You should wear it.  I will learn to behave myself, and you are a free woman now.'  
  
Fran patted his head and withdrew to lean back in her own chair.  'Incorrect.  We are both prisoners of our own heads and hearts.  But never mind.  Let us go somewhere before we reflect on where we left behind.'  
  
* * *

 

When Cid finally invited Strjl into his home, it was more of a formality than anything. She had shared so many days at his work and simply out in Tsenoble together dandling young Ffamran that the child barely noticed she was being added to his household. He looked up at her with his father's eyes but his mother's smile, and said with the solemnity of youth, 'Potatoes for dinner again and I shall simply _die_.'

 

Cid raised a hand helplessly. 'That was a phrase in one of his storybooks last week. Heavens help me, I don't know how to make him stop.'

 

Strjl cocked her head to regard Ffamran, who barely reached her knees. The boy stared up at her breasts, so intent that she caught Cid's arm and asked, 'Is he in need of a wet-nurse?'

 

Cid frowned in confusion. 'No, of course not, he's four if he's a day... oh. Hrm.'

 

Cid stroked his chin, and Strjl tried her very best to resist the urge to kick the boy. He was a child, and children were by their very natures curious. It was not the insult it might have been coming from a grown man.

 

'I see that I will have to adapt, here. I hope that Archadian cloth does not chafe sensitive skin.'

 

Cid stepped close, clasped his hand on her shoulder so that his shirtsleeve draped and shifted loose against her chest.

 

'Hmm? Your thoughts, lady?'

 

Strjl exhaled through her nose, tried to stifle her reactive smile. Cid stood out amongst Archadian men, an old enough soul to know not to take himself too seriously. Still, with the father as with the son, setting boundaries early would be important.

 

'It will do for this moment, but you can hardly cover my modesty all day. I suspect I may need my own wardrobe, and the autonomy to select for myself.'

 

Cid stepped back, a nod of his head and a grin as he bowed theatrically. 'But of course, dear. To be honest, I have no idea why he is like this. He never has been before.'

 

Strjl crossed her arms and stared down at Ffamran, who stared right back at her. 'Of course you know, Cid. This is inside, not out, and there are lower barriers between family bodies than acquaintances. Ffamran's behaviour, compared to our own, is all that makes sense today.'

 

Ffamran seemed a little too happy, though Strjl wondered how much of her accent he understood at his age. She lifted him up onto her shoulder, kept her eyes on his. 'You do not like potatoes, little man?'

 

'No.'

 

Cid chuckled at the face Ffamran made, but Strjl ignored him and hoped that Ffamran would follow her example.

 

'In my upbringing, to truly know our enemies we first understand them. This includes potatoes, which will be on the menu until you can defeat an entire serving.'

 

Ffamran raised an eyebrow, and Cid half fell over himself with laughter. 'Oh, oh Strjl! You must know, mustn't you? You can't fool a child with a trick like that, they can see right through it!'

 

Strjl's brow furrowed and she glanced between Cid and Ffamran in confusion. It had been just that simple for Jote to reason with Mjrn in her young years. Surely Humes could not be so different?

 

Cid wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and reminded Strjl with his presence alone that it was not any sane person, Hume or Viera, that Strjl would have to reason with, but  _Bunansas_ . She had the feeling that settling in to their household would be a greater test than she had faced before.

 

* * *  
  
Six months and Balthier had taught himself enough for Fran to leave him at the helm.  They had run out of money too soon, were barely getting by with honest hunting, and had the misfortune of overhearing an Imperial soldier at Nalbina discussing a new test flight for an airship, scheduled for that very afternoon.  
  
It was unlikely that Cid would be there, but perhaps there might be an assistant or engineer that could recognise them.  Her cry from the hangar floor had Balthier warming the engines by the time she closed the hatch, and they had grown so used to aimless wandering in the places that were good for food and looting of fiends that it never occurred to her to dictate a destination.  Balthier was growing quickly, his ability to read people developing beyond the necessity of tact until he had an edge of wit about him when he had the sense to use it.  Not often, but she was still proud of him. He had come a long way from the sheltered Archadian boy that he had been as Ffamran.  
  
There was a traitor part of her heart that was sure, surer than anything the wood had ever shared with her, truer than any truth she had known, that Cid was in Nalbina, and if they stayed she would be able to regain him.  She knew it to be a false hope, like all the hopes she had entertained in that last year.  Still part of her ached to run to destruction, because there were arms and warmth and a chuckle that sat so deep down in Cid's belly that if he'd ever-  
  
Fran placed both hands over her face and stayed as still as she could in her bed.  Balthier would keep them safe.  She could afford herself a small nap, better than dwelling on thoughts best not thought.  
  
When she woke up, they were in Balfonheim.  
  
'I distinctly remember saying that this place was off limits, little man.'  
  
Balthier raised an eyebrow and winked.  'As acting Captain, Ma'am, I was merely making the best of a bad situation.  Cid knows you, he knows me, he knows your authority over me.  Therefore he knows we would most certainly not ever, no never, come to visit Balfonheim.'  
  
Fran crossed her arms, and her legs for good measure.  'That is a terrible and transparent argument.  Your debating society would be ashamed to call you their own, if they heard.'  
  
Balthier scoffed and waved a hand around the Aerodrome.  'In a place like this, it is what you do rather than what you argue that counts.'  
  
He was active, eager, excited.  He hadn't looked so happy since he had hit his first practice target with his pistol.  She could do little more than smile wryly as he bounced on the balls of his naked feet and paced around the cockpit.  
  
'We may as well buy you some sandals now we are here, and be off with those useless boots.  Too heavy for a pilot.'  
  
'Or a pirate,' Balthier put in.  
  
'Yes.  But we will not stay.  I still retain some authority, here.'  
  
Balthier grinned, ducked his head, and headed off towards the cargo deck.  
  
'Fetch your boots, so we can trade them.'

 

There was a scuffing sound as he turned on his heel and bounded back towards his room. 'Fine.  I was about to remember to do that, you know.  I'm not the complete moron you think me to be.'  
  
'Heavens forbid,' Fran muttered on her way past him.  
  
Out on the street, Balthier seemed to be torn between absorbing all the sights he could and trying to appear nonchalant as what he must think a true sky-pirate would in a place such as Balfonheim.  Fran knew the mothers and fathers in the crowd on sight, for they shared exasperation and fondness with her when their eyes met.  It was a busy road.  Balthier's bare feet scuffed in the dirty sand and he inhaled the sea breeze so deeply that he set himself upon a sneezing fit.  
  
'Perhaps I should have brought you here.  You are entertaining enough to earn our keep for some months, like this, if I charge a fee.  Have you considering clownfoolery as a career?'  
  
Balthier stuck his nose up in the air and kept his right hand on his bandolier.  'As it so happens, I have deeper talents that lie in other areas.'  
  
'If you explore any depths in this place, I shall have to disinfect you before we leave.'  
  
Balthier laughed it off, and wrapped a sun-warm arm around her waist.  'Now, there, I'd rather you than any of us illustrious two discover some depths.  I've heard it can rinse a bad memory clean out of your system.'  
  
Fran felt her spine stiffen.  She walked on, feeling tight and cold inside.  She did not say a word, and the flavour of Balthier's silence let her know that he knew he had misstepped.  She did not need apologies, but she did not feel the need to justify herself.  He knew and would understand.  He regretted it.  She kept her mouth closed and let him order their meal at the tavern they ended up at.  
  
While Balthier's back was turned to Fran, she found herself approached by a young smiling man looking only one year or so older than him. With soft-curling hair and a smoothness to the confidence in his eyes – and his tanned skin on top of that – she guessed this boy was from the west.

 

'A pleasure, my lady,' the boy bowed low over her hand and moved as if to kiss it.

 

Fran pulled her hand calmly back and set it on her knee. 'I do not think that I am yours, child. Nor am I what many would consider ladylike.'

 

The boy laughed a little too loud, and Fran bit her tongue so that she did not laugh at him and cause him any shame. He was quite like Balthier, eager to experience the mythology of sex and romance, scared of failure, tongue too thick with childhood to pull it off without becoming a caricature of themselves.

 

'Well, excuse me. I didn't think you were going to take me seriously, Fran. This one's barely ambulatory.'

 

Fran took a mug from Balthier with a frown. 'You should learn not to make suggestions you cannot stand the aftertaste of.'

 

Balthier took a long draw from his drink and eyed the boy warily. 'Who are you, then?'

 

The boy smiled nervously. 'Just a passing stranger, I assure you. Though you may call me Al-Cid.'

 

Fran wrinkled her nose.

 

'Oh, you have heard of me, lady? I must hope it is only very, very good things they say.'

 

'Not at all,' Balthier spoke on her behalf, and Fran was more than happy to let him, 'but neither one of us has any love for a boy with a name like that. Leave us alone.'

 

Al-Cid smiled and shrugged, as if he had a thousand such conversations in a day, and moved off to another table.

 

'Is Balfonheim to your tastes, then?' It was a bit cruel to taunt him with a smile in her voice, but it was refreshing to know that his idealistic dreams of piracy were being broken down. He would see the world clearer for it.

 

Balthier glared at her, at Al-Cid's back from across the room, and down at the overpriced greasy slop on their plates. 'I hadn't expected roughing it to be quite so rough.'

 

'You are a smart boy, though you would block your ears to such praise these days.' Fran placed her hand over his on the table. 'I am proud that you can see truth of yourself, most Humes never do.'

 

'Did Cid?'

 

Fran thought about it for a moment. 'It is hard to say. He was not a man to speak things like that aloud directly, but at times you could see it in him. He was not afraid to laugh at himself, and I would like to think that revealed insight into his mind.'

 

Balthier made a face at his food and pushed the plate away. 'Intolerable, that stuff is.'

 

'You should be-'

 

Balthier sighed and waved a hand in the air flippantly. 'Getting over my snottish fussiness with food, or finding us a mark that pays well? Yes, yes, I know. You must be sick of my childish ways.'

 

He bowed his head, but couldn't keep the quirk from the corner of his lips. Fran smiled back and wished she could capture those expressions in her heart, guard them against the fogginess of time.

 

'I love how very much like him you are some days. If he were still himself, he would be proud... and apologetic.'

 

Balthier's joy faded at once. 'I'm nothing like him. It would service you well to forget somebody who can no longer exist to us.'

 

Fran sat back, a little shocked. It was close enough to the words she scolded herself with when she contemplated what may have come in her sisters' lives that it made her recognise herself. She had not truly left Cid, either the man that she had loved nor the man he had become that last year, behind her heart. She clung to the past through his son, through his ship, through the damnable ache in her gut when she thought of him.

 

'To exile the broken past is a Viera tradition, come from our history of exodus and dispossession. As a Hume, you have been taught since birth to cling to family above all. It can not be healthy to drive yourself against your nature. That besides, I...'

 

She needed a moment, and the sullenness of youth be blessed, she had it. Balthier pushed his spoon through his stew, but did not speak.

 

'I leave my names behind, so that I can remember the love of family and friends past without letting it taint my present. Let Balthier hate the Doctor Bunansa, but never forget that once Ffamran had a loving and wonderful father.'

 

Balthier's hands shook, and he knocked his bowl off the table by accident. He stood, looking lost inside his own skin, red-faced.

 

'That boy is dead now. Let ghosts rest in peace, woman!'

 

He fled the tavern. It was not the first time, it would not be the last. Fran ignored the eyes on her and forced herself to swallow down what their purse had paid for. Balthier, since before he had been Balthier, had always had trouble with control and facing truths he would rather not hear. He did not like to lose face. He did not like to face painful memories. He was seventeen, and knew how to take care of himself. He was a grown man near enough, and it would do no good to chase after him. This was not the tantrum of a child. If she kept repeating those things in her head, maybe she would believe them enough to give him the space he needed.

 

A boy in tight pants – Al-Cid again, it seemed – slid into Balthier's empty seat and poked the upturned bowl disdainfully with the toe of his boot. 'It seems to me that you deserve some civilised company.'

 

'I agree,' Fran said. She set her spoon down and strode out after Balthier. There would be raised voices, bitter words. Sometimes it was better to lance a boil than let it fester.

 

* * *

 

They were not sure what to do on Ffamran's birthday.

 

'I mean, you never celebrated yours with us, so I never even thought about it. Do you leave a birthday behind with a name? Is mine next week, or three months from now?'

 

Fran could not answer. 'I never chose to count my age from a different day, but as you say I never felt the need to publicly celebrate my age.'

 

Balthier lay on his stomach on the spare bunk in her room, legs dangling in the air and hands flopped over the sides, as if lounging about was simply too much effort. When he spoke, it was half-muffled by a pillow.

 

'Viera live for a long time, right?'

 

'Yes.' She kept on with her sewing, patching up an elbow on one of his older shirts. It was getting a little short in the cuff. He was not finished growing yet, and that meant another shopping trip in a week or so.

 

'Yes? That's it? No Viera wisdom on life and death, no warnings that I should not ask your age?'

 

Fran pulled a pin out and slipped it between her teeth for safekeeping.

 

'You will outlive Cid, right? If you turn grey before he does, I swear I'll have words with whoever writes the fates. It is not on.'

 

Fran reached the end of the tear and snapped her thread off. She took a moment to worry the fabric, checking that it would hold up under the stresses of combat.

 

'Hang on. Forget Cid, he's one foot in the grave already. What about me? I know you're here now, but what about when I'm eighty? If I live that long, I mean...'

 

The thought worried Balthier so much he looked nearly ready to push himself upright. Fran stuck her pins and needles into the sewing kit and threw the shirt at his head.

 

'I will outlive you, and if you have any children, most likely them as well. Do not fret.'

 

Balthier relaxed again, not bothering to move the shirt. He looked ridiculous.

 

'I'm not fretted. Well, I should be, shouldn't I? They say it's a shame for a parent to outlive a child, but as things stand, Fran... if you die before me I'll have to kill you myself.'

 

Fran ruffled his hair and got on with the rest of her mending. 'I hope that is not a promise, young man. Threats of death from an Archadian are, I hear, quite serious.'

 

This did have him sitting up. 'Huh?'

 

'The young Solidor, the one who had such interest in science and research. His hopes were for naught.'

 

Balthier looked incredulous. 'They killed him? I knew three sons was too much for any Empire.'

 

'Oh no, you have it the wrong way around.'

 

Balthier frowned. 'You mean, his brother?'

 

'The new infant Larsa pleases the Emperor. The older ones, too far from his control, eaten whole by their legacy. Poor Vayne, stuck in the middle, no institute for him. He has been enlisted.'

 

Balthier snorted and stood to pace the room. 'He probably caught that rotten cruelty and hatred from someone dear to our hearts. Don't spare too much pity for him.'

 

'Yes, well. I am done here.' She was not really, but she folded what was left into a bundle and put it in the cupboard beside the sewing kit. 'If we leave now, we can find dinner in Bhujerba, look upon the horizon as far as it goes.'

 

Balthier wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led the way awkwardly through the low narrow doors to the cockpit. 'If we are going to celebrate Ffamran after all, we should get there in time to buy me a present.'

 

Fran let him take the controls. She settled into the co-pilot's seat and kept an eye on things while trying to look like she was not. 'This year, as you only have one parent, you shall only receive one gift.'

 

'Surely I should get one extra to compensate for the emotional strife?'

 

'When you have earned the coin for it, we shall see. Do not let me forget that you need new under-'

 

Balthier swooped _The Strahl_ , and Fran shut her mouth. Balthier laughed, turned to smirk at her, and hit a bird. She was kind enough to simply incline her head, and he was humbly quiet until they had landed.

 

* * *

 

Balthier was nineteen the first time that they honestly set out as thieves from the start. Fran had made sure that he was properly prepared in advance. He knew how to pick locks, walk silently, and pull his gun from his holster without needing to strike a pose with it.

 

'Ha-ah, you cad! A Sky Pirate never loses the upper hand.'

 

She winced and watched his back. She had yet to break him of the habit of shooting without theatrics. She needed to learn to be patient. Humes aged quickly, he would grow beyond it in mere months if she was lucky.

 

'This door?'

 

He shook his head and inclined it towards a smaller one down the hall from them. His earrings swung lightly, and off they went. It was so simple, in the end. Balthier opened the door, Fran kept a lookout while he found and cracked the safe, a small leather pouch found its way into Balthier's belt, and it was two short drops to get out of the house and over the garden fence.

 

'I praise terraced suburbs. It's like they  _want_ to make our job easier. Too easy to get the lay of the land beforehand.'

 

'Not all thieves have airships or our height to their advantage, and our job is not over yet.'

 

Balthier nodded. He led the way down the street – a Hume was always less likely to raise notice than a Viera – and beckoned when he had confirmed the crossroads were clear. Once they had made it three blocks away,  _then_ Fran let herself relax. They had left no trace, and did not appear to have been noticed.

 

Balthier tossed the pouch up and down. The strings bounced along with it, and the fizzy pull of magicite felt like the start of a headache. Fran was glad that she did not have to touch it.

 

'Oh, are you that sensitive?'

 

'Some days. You know it can depend on where we are, the strength of the Mist around us and in the stone.'

 

Balthier grunted in acknowledgement and shoved it deep into a pocket, putting another layer between it and her skin. They walked in comfortable silence through the quiet nighttime streets, idly watching the flickering lights in the homes around them.

 

'Will we just keep doing this, then? Living on as we are with no direction?'

 

Fran smiled. 'We can. Were we both not doing so before, in our own ways? I do not think you wanted to become a Judge.'

 

'Mm, well, yes. But it feels like we need some purpose now.'

 

She did not know how to phrase what she felt in words. 'I... it is difficult to know how to say this.'

 

She thought about it as they drew closer to the centre of the city and they began to pass more people walking and talking between stores and restaurants and pubs.

 

'I have a long time ahead of me, and you do not. I am not happy with the idea of smothering you, of trying to fill your life with lessons and directions. We left so that Cid could not ruin you, and I will not let myself fall into doing so myself.'

 

'So what, then, I make all the choices for us?'

 

'Not at all.' Fran clasped a hand around his shoulder so that they stopped for a moment with the world moving around them. 'You make the choices for yourself. It is what your mother wished for you, before you were born. I shall do my best to watch over you, and I do not want to part with you, but have no doubts I can make my own choices as well.'

 

'Oh, I have  _no doubts_ there.' Balthier rolled his eyes.

 

'But I cannot make decisions for the path of a ship that does not belong to me. That is your task now.'

 

Balthier stared at her. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and grabbed at her forearms. ' _The Strahl_ ?! She's mine?'

 

'I always intended for her to be yours. Given some of the design, perhaps Cid meant so as well. Regardless, she is yours today, provided I may remain her passenger.'

 

Balthier was always very open and physical with his affection. His arms wrapped around her, holding close tight to her the same way that he had as a child. She let her hands hold him close to her, feel his short life in his thin skin and thready pulse, trying not to be scared. He had not yet outlived his father, and already she was letting herself feel the terror of his Humeanity. Had her mother felt this way, with three daughters around her?

 

'I can't believe this! I'm going to take such good care of her, believe me!'

 

'Oh, I believe you.'

 

Balthier grinned at her. 'I don't care what it takes, or how stupid it is. I know our course already. We'll be treasure hunters. We'll find all the magicite and nethicite in the world to spare. Keep it from him. Once his research falters, once he looks up from his ledgers and the microscope, he'll recover himself, I'm sure.'

 

Fran's heart broke a little inside. She did not cry. Oh, the idealism of youth, or perhaps simply of her men, thinking to change the rules of the world to suit themselves.

 

'Let us not get ahead of ourselves. If you want to seek a cure, you should identify the disease first.'

 

Balthier nodded and let her go to wave a hand dismissively. 'No matter. Even if it will not work, we can find the better pieces and hide them from him out of perverse humour. It can add flavour to our aimless wandering.'

 

'It will make him proud, if he realises.'

 

Balthier scoffed and shook his head, but there was a lightness to his eyes and in the heels of his feet as he led the way towards the Aerodrome.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps because they were so very far out of his reach, perhaps because his father was tall enough to give a teasing flick to them as he left for work, or perhaps just _because_ , because that sometimes was the case with Ffamran, finding new ways to reach and touch Viera ears became a game.

 

Only five, he didn't have the wits about him to know that he gave himself away with his giggling and cheeky grin. After a week of dodging and avoiding, Strjl had become used to avoiding certain places in the house. She did not sit in any chairs beside any tables, pot-plants, or windows. She did not go to bed until Ffamran had gone to his, and she rose with the sun while both her boys lay in warm quilted apathy. Winter worked to her advantage, in that. When she bent, she did so quickly and used her ankles, so that it was easier to straighten to her full height.

 

She had not expected him to use the banister.

 

'I think, if it does not involve your own hands, it does not count, little man.'

 

Ffamran stomped his foot on the landing above her. 'It does so count.'

 

'No. But, come here,' she made her way to the stairs and tapped them at about her shoulder level, 'and we shall be able to talk as equals.'

 

When Ffamran got there, he went all quiet. He reached out to hold onto the tips of her ears with that heavy-handed gentle clumsiness that children had about them. A little ticklish, but Strjl could hide her reaction from him.

 

'You are very well-balanced for your age, but I think that not even the most agile of sky pirates would survive a fall so many times more than his own height. You are not allowed to do this again.'

 

Ffamran's disappointment was clear. He was upset with her, turned his face away, but would not let go of her. Strjl felt uncomfortable, but knew that it was important to Ffamran that she stay. She fit her hands through the railings and brushed her fingers against his sides. In the foyer, the front door opened and closed. Strjl could hear Cid's footsteps seeking them out. Generally Ffamran raced to meet him, and it must have seemed strange to arrive home to silence.

 

'Aha, here the truant be!'

 

Cid sounded happy, which was better than over-tired or dissatisfied with the results of a test flight. His arms came up around Strjl from behind, and rested against hers. He settled his chin on her shoulder and peered up at Ffamran beside her.

 

'Is this what we look like all the time from your perspective, then?'

 

'Um.' Ffamran stepped back, let go of Strjl, and though the frame of the moment between them was broken, she felt a sense of permanence and warmth there. When she had first met Cid, she would never have expected to find a sense of family with him.

 

Ffamran shook his head, laughed, and put his hands on his hips. 'Sky-pirates look better from all angles.'

 

Cid made a thoughtful noise, and rubbed at his chin. 'An important factoid. Dinner?'

 

Though Cid insisted that all Archadian houses hired servants in order to help elevate the poor out of their circumstances, Strjl was equally insistent that the whole system reeked of the guilt of a class who could not manage an economy properly. No matter who was currently employed by the Bunansa family, she finished the day by washing their dishes and having Ffamran dry them. Their crockery, by necessity, was cheap.

 

Elbows deep in soapy water, Strjl watched Ffamran counting out cutlery as he dried it, stacking them in neat piles.

 

'You have the aptitude to become an engineer if you would like. Keeping count of things, knowing where your tools are, it's a habit you need.'

 

'These are treasures. Obviously. Father made the airship, you fly it, and I am the sky-pirate captain.'

 

'Oh, obviously, little man.'

 

Strjl shared a curious look with Cid, who shrugged. That night in bed, pretending not to hear Ffamran as he talked loudly to himself in sleepless boredom, Cid did not touch her. He lay on his side and looked at the drawer in his dresser that held Hilde's possessions.

 

'I should not have let you get tangled up in this. We are both too scared to lose anybody else, Ffamran and I, and I find myself always almost asking too much of you.'

 

Strjl placed a hand on Cid's shoulder. 'How much? Tell me, and let me assess my own limits. You have only known me a short time.'

 

Cid let his breath out, reached up to place his hand on top of hers. 'You can take me or leave me, lovers come and go in life, as it goes. But can you promise yourself to my son?'

 

Strjl felt she could risk answering immediately, but a big promise like that deserved to be thought on for an appropriate amount of time. 'I shall not promise anything tonight.'

 

'May I continue to ask?'

 

'Always.'

 

Cid threaded his fingers through hers, and they were silent together for a moment.

 

'… Bang! Take that, you cur!' could be heard through the wall. Ffamran was getting himself worked up, he would not fall asleep for hours. Intervention was needed. Strjl let go and rolled over, but Cid was up and out of bed before her.

 

'I'll take this one. Sleep.'

 

* * *

 

The door opened without any warning, and Fran had only a second to pull something over herself. Whether it was good or bad luck, that thing was the young woman she had shared companionship with the night before. The woman groaned in protest, and Balthier shouted out in surprise.

 

'It is not like you to be so rude,' Fran said as calmly as she could. She could feel her right ear beginning to twitch with annoyance. 'I trust there is urgency in this interruption.'

 

'S- Fran! What the hell do you think you are doing, with a... a...'

 

Fran closed her eyes at his lack of tact, and drew her sheets up to cover the poor woman in her arms. 'Perhaps we may have privacy? I can speak with you later?'

 

'Fine. But this isn't the end of this.'

 

He gave the door an extra shove as it closed behind him, and set his feet down so heavily that each step rang throughout _The Strahl_. Once there was quiet, the woman raised her head and shared a stricken look with Fran, then laughed.

 

'A jealous lover?'

 

Fran smiled, smoothed the woman's hair down. 'Hardly. It is more that he is too used to imaging me with another, and with that other gone, he assumes I am sexless.'

 

The woman laughed again, pure amusement, and Fran found herself thinking back to all those she had bedded, wondering if perhaps she preferred an amount of silliness about her lovers.

 

'More fool him! Will you be around tonight?'

 

'No, my apologies. We have a very tight itinerary, and I would not want to make our Captain late today.'

 

'Oh, no. Though I think it's not the itinerary that's the tight thing around here. I'll just... yeah.'

 

They dressed and tidied themselves up, and when Fran saw her out of _The Strahl_ they did not run into a living soul. The second the hatch was closed, however, there Balthier was.

 

'What on earth was that? I thought you were being celibate, faithful to the memory of-'

 

'If you think that either your father or I were monogamous, you are a strange child. It has been four years since we left Archades, and it is not as if you yourself have not brought lovers here.'

 

Balthier spluttered and waved his arms indignantly. 'That's different! I'm young, I've not met anyone I consider seriously, and I'm a _man_. I don't have to worry about... hang on. Sorry, I have no idea about Viera biology. But still, you are like my mother. It is not right, on my own ship!'

 

Fran walked past him and passed over tea for something stronger. 'I do not understand that about Humes. You know fully well how children are created, and yet children when grown often refuse to countenance the truth of their genesis. Denial is not a healthy habit.'

 

'Like hell it isn't!' Balthier nodded and waved in exaggerated gestures until Fran raised an eyebrow and poured him a measure of drink.

 

'If it is a problem, perhaps you should not have suggested, oh so many times, that I use sex to forget Cid.'

 

Balthier frowned and downed his drink in one gulp, holding his glass out for another. 'Yes, but I didn't expect you to actually do so. I...' he frowned at his empty glass, scrutinised it. 'I'm being a complete and utter prick, am I not?'

 

Fran crossed her arms and leaned back against the bench. 'Perhaps.'

 

'It is just...'

 

'I will not become any less yours because I grow distant from him, you know this.'

 

Balthier rubbed his hands over his face, and sighed. 'Yes, yes.'

 

'And I do not become any less his through sex for the sake of lust. He became as dead to me, when I left my name behind. Though I cannot forget him, I will never regain him.' She knew the truth through all of her heart, now, which made it easier to speak of.

 

Balthier nodded slowly, but then his head shot up, eyes wide, to stare at her. 'That other time, you left someone behind too, didn't you?'

 

Fran nodded. 'I shall take that as an apology and not an attempt to pry into a past that I can not claim as my own. Let us leave, and dispose of the magicite sooner rather than later.'

 

* * *

 

For all that she insisted everyone in the house participate in some chores, there was simply not that much to do in Archades. When you keep your world in tight boxes sealed by tightly closed doors, it takes dust a lot longer to collect. It was fine when Ffamran had school, but during the breaks in tutelage the few of his age-mates he got along with headed off with their parents. It was a misfortune of class elevation; Dr. Cid did not have any political duties to attend to, and so the Bunansa family did not travel for their holidays. Cid was more than happy to make use of the quiet halls of the academy for his work, but it did not suit Ffamran or Strjl one bit.

 

The morning stretched out long as usual after breakfast. They ambled around inside reading and poking at things, watching the stone garden path burn white in sunlight. At eleven, when the shadows that the house cast over them turned the path a normal faded grey, Strjl poured water as cold as they could get into two cups. She hiked her infuriating Archadian skirts up to press her legs against the warm stones, feeling the life in them. Ffamran flicked stray pebbles off into the flowerbeds, and they held their drinks for the condensation on the outside rather than what was inside.

 

'I'm bored.'

 

Strjl lifted her glass and rolled it horizontally across her forehead. 'I cannot imagine why I left The Wood to begin with, child. You are experiencing boredom, you are not _bored_.'

 

'You are damp,' Ffamran pointed to her face, 'and you are experiencing dampness.'

 

'I do not make your tutor's rules, I simply know when playing by them will save you another remedial examination.'

 

Ffamran sighed heavily. He dipped his finger in his glass and drew a line on the stone that evaporated nearly as soon as it was made. 'Isn't there anything we can _do?'_

 

Strjl thought about it. 'We do not need anything, but we could go and look at the shops again.'

 

'We did that _last week_.'

 

'Hmm. We could unfold, iron and re-fold all the linen in the house.'

 

Ffamran stuck his tongue out, and tried to make a longer line with two fingers' worth of water. 'That's stupid. And boring. And hot.'

 

'We could go to the Sochen Caves and explore for hidden treasure.'

 

Ffamran looked at her, eyes wide. 'Really?'

 

'Oh, yes.' Strjl nodded seriously. 'But it is so hot that we would not be able to carry any armour or weaponry with us. We would die. At least we would die entertained.'

 

Ffamran did not look impressed. 'Can't you think of something?'

 

Strjl looked up into the bright sky, and regretted it. Though she turned back to the shade around her feet, it still glimmered on the edges of her vision. 'Can't you?'

 

'Um. Can we go flying?'

 

'In an aircab, if you like. You know we can't go on the prototypes without Cid, and he is busy today.'

 

Ffamran jutted his chin out, and poured his drink out over his feet. He wriggled his toes in the puddle it made, then kept them very still. There was nothing better to do, so they watched the puddle dry. It happened so quickly that Strjl felt the heat and exhaustion of summer down in her bones. Her skin stuck to itself. They gave up on waiting for a breeze and went back inside. They slumped across the kitchen table from each other.

 

'Did you know, Ffamran? I grew up in a dark, cool, place. Full of trees, even in the worst of summer you could put your toes down on the ground and feel something wet and cool beneath them.'

 

Ffamran looked upset. 'That's disgusting!'

 

'If you are used to hard, hot stone, I imagine it sounds so.' Strjl lay her head down, and with her eyes closed she could almost feel the memories inside herself before the summer air dried them out.

 

Ffamran stretched his short arms across the table to poke her in the elbow. 'I wish we had trees here. Can we plant one?'

 

'Maybe next spring.'

 

'But that will take ages! I'm sick of summer _now!_ '

 

It was only six hours until Cid would come home and twilight would bring some respite. Strjl got up and filled their cups again.

 

* * *

 

Balthier was in a good mood, the day that they managed to sell the odd-looking gold-foiled urn that had been kicking around in a storage cupboard and threatening to break before it gave them any profit. Fran left him to his gloating and stocked their stores up during the afternoon. She'd had a feeling, as ragged as he'd been running himself that last week, he'd be back on _The Strahl_ early. She stuffed some fresh vegetables into nice, crusty bread rolls and carried them with a water canteen into the cockpit. She waited, and soon enough there he was.

 

He stretched an arm out to take his dinner from her, and the comfort between them of familiar routines and seat cushions worn down enough by use to feel like home. Fran inhaled deeply, and took in the sights of the same-old Aerodrome hangar walls of Bhujerba.

 

'This is nice,' Balthier said. He crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and tapped a finger on his knee.

 

'Out with it. You have a question?'

 

'When did you meet us? I honestly cannot remember a time without you, but I know you were not always there...'

 

Fran had to hide a smirk from him. She turned her head with the pretence of taking a sip of water. She swallowed and cleared her throat. 'You ask the wrong question, Balthier.'

 

'One of these days, I'd like to hear you say that and offer the right one, old bag.'

 

Fran raised an eyebrow, but he was already waving a hand in apology and nodding. 'The right question. So was it the wrong subject? Viera live long, and I am young. Did you meet Cid before he met my mother?'

 

Fran bit her lip and shook her head. 'No.'

 

'Ah. It was my mother, then, was it? Why did I never know before now?'

 

Fran shrugged. 'You were young, you still often forget what you were taught at that age, and Cid did not like to remember Hilde near me, for fear that he had replaced her with another.'

 

Balthier yawned, and stared out the window. 'Is it a long tale in the telling?'

 

'Longer than there is time tonight. Tomorrow, however.'

 

Balthier pulled himself out of his chair and stretched his arms out. 'Tomorrow, then.'

 

* * *

 

Humes tended to assume that Viera were younger than them. Or, rather, that they had left the Wood and the Green Word so recently that their inexperience rendered them as infants in a brave new world. It had been useful at the start, a good distraction from missing Mjrn and Jote, an easy way to gain access to information she needed. But thirty-five years of newness can become old. Strjl had hoped that Archades would yield more world-wise companionship, or at the very least the pretence of worldliness amongst the richer classes. She had not expected to come across quite so much classism and sexism and racism, though, and the hot greasy air that brushed past the lower levels of the city left Fran's fur feeling gritty and parched. She longed for somewhere cool and dark.

 

The food was good, at least, and there were artisans of all kinds who knew more about some Viera weaponry than Strjl herself did. It was a good place to be, for the moment. She leaned back against a rare undecorated panel on the side of a building and relaxed to watch the flurry of aircabs and people in well-dressed panic. Lunch time, when all the aristocrats and academics came out to play and clog everything up. Strjl would not be worrying about reaching any destination until it had passed.

 

A few seconds and a few dozen pedestrians later, and there was a young student from the academy stumbling and spilling her notes onto the pavement. As busy as the streets were, they would have been trampled if Strjl had not crouched forwards and gathered up what she could. With two, they were more noticeable and the crowds moved around them as they picked up the mess.

 

When it was all together in their arms, they could finally straighten their necks and see each other properly. The girl was flushed, laughing in embarrassment, and nodding her head in thanks all at once, as if she had an excess of energy and gestures built up inside her.

 

'Thank you,' she balanced her load in one arm to reach the other out to Strjl, 'I'm Hilde.'

 

Strjl ignored the girl's outstretched hand and carefully piled the papers she held onto the others. Hilde sagged downwards with the weight and put both hands to holding on tightly. 'Thank you again. I must say, it is an embarrassment when locals do nothing but strangers do everything.'

 

Strjl smiled tightly. 'How do you know I am a stranger, little one?'

 

Hilde shrugged. 'I go by here most days, never seen you before, so I assumed. I guess I don't spend as much time further down these days. Have I been rude in assuming?'

 

Strjl shook her head. 'It is of no matter. I am glad that I could be of assistance before I become too accustomed to Archadian manners.'

 

Hilde inclined her head, wiggled an eyebrow, and sighed when whatever message she had been trying to convey escaped Strjl's notice. 'Walk with me? You'll be better company than the men at the academy. I swear, some of them think that a woman has to give up her position if she wants to raise a child. As if four fifths of all noblewomen didn't use wetnurses and maids for rearing their sprogs anyway.'

 

Strjl blinked at how fast the words had come out of the girl's mouth. She was certainly livelier than many Strjl had met in her travels. 'I shall, if it is not an imposition for you.'

 

'Hardly, hah! You can stick to me, if you like. I've time enough between running errands for those stuffed shirts upstairs, and if you keep me company you'll never have a chance of any proper behaviour sinking into your skull. Ask anyone you like about me, they'll let you know, I swear worse than a sky-pirate, and pun worse than old Solidor himself.'

 

'I do not understand, but I would like your company.'

 

Hilde grinned widely at her, and then stopped still, mouth in a wide circle of epiphany. 'You can help me carry this rubbish, then!'

 

Strjl was burdened with an increasingly messy pile of papers, and had to lengthen her stride to keep up with Hilde's pace. So fast that the crowds around them seemed sluggish, they weaved their way through bodies and towards an aircab.

 

* * *

 

At the turn of the year, for all that the best money was in Archades, the food in Rabanastre and the wine in Balfonheim, the best party was in Nalbina. Always a bit of each from everywhere, crowded with locals and Imperials and travellers caught in-between their homes and their intended destinations, it was a messy and fun place to be.

 

Fran carried some glazed skewered yams from a street vendor to where Balthier sat, one hip propped on the low wall that surrounded the plaza. She handed him three sticks and they settled down for some people-watching. Somehow, even speckled with dry dust and dirt, at this time of night with the banners and incense and candles raised high, faded clothing became colourful.

 

'He's looked your way three times in as many minutes. Though he's a bit close to...'

 

Fran inclined her head to catch a glimpse of the man that Balthier was indicating. He had Cid's stature and colouring, and Balthier was right. Though he was attractive, he would not do for her.

 

'Never fear, I can find my own. I will not keep you from your fun. Perhaps he was looking at you? You could always give men a try, son.'

 

Balthier stuck his tongue out at her. 'You are a sick fiend, and I will have none of your company tonight, old lady!'

 

'I should hope not.'

 

It was ten, and Fran suspected that Balthier was planning on seeing in the new year with more exciting times than these. She scanned the crowd for an excuse for either of them to part company.

 

'He, perhaps, is unattached and acceptable.' She lifted her chin to indicate a tall and dark-haired man with well-travelled boots and the look of someone who did not want to be too involved with whoever he tumbled.

 

'Hrm, likely enough. But hold on, here's trouble.' Balthier smiled invitingly at someone over Fran's shoulder, and soon enough a young bit of a girl was stepping close to join them.

 

'Oh, I didn't mean to push in, if you're...'

 

Fran snorted and waved as she turned to walk away. 'My standards are not quite so low. Be sure that he washes his sticky hands first, child.'

 

'Fran! I hope you meet your match in a cactuar patch!'

 

Fran could hear him laughing and charming the girl as she walked away. He had yet to grow out of his arrogance, but he had come to know her as an adult and a person rather than a parent, which was freeing. If she lived another forty years this way, she would not grow bored. She ordered a simple ale from one of the stalls and lifted it once to the south-west, once to the north-east, and once towards the corner of the plaza where Balthier was, obscured by the crowd. She drank to them all, and set to catching the eye of that man if she could.

 

* * *

 

It had been too long, in truth, but life did tend to stretch out and compress in strange ways when you lived amongst Humes. In Archades and Hilde's company, they had been so isolated from the seasons that life seemed infinite and permanent. In Nabradia and Dalmasca fickle weather pushed you forwards and made a year feel like nothing more than the time it took the clouds to change direction. Strjl disembarked from the airship and made her way to the academy. Most likely, almost a decade and a half since they had last met, Hilde would have changed her circumstances. Strjl would not find her at home, but perhaps through her vocation.

 

When she asked at the front desk, there was nobody of that name in the building. Strjl had to wait half a day for that information, so slow were their administrative staff. Then she had the now familiar series of questions that were oddly useful, when you were trying to keep track of old acquaintances.

 

'Is there anybody in the building that has been here for longer than ten years?'

 

The answer was yes, which was not a very useful one, considering.

 

'My friend may have known them. May I see someone from amongst that group?'

 

The answer was again yes, which was promising, but was not followed up with any activity.

 

'How do I see someone who has-'

 

The divulging of personal information was not, it seemed, allowed to anyone who lacked credentials. Strjl's ears twitched, knowing exactly what criteria allowed people to enquire successfully – Humeanity. She wrinkled her nose and took up position beside the doorway. The first sensibly old looking person that entered, she approached.

 

'Hello. I am looking for my friend, she would be known to anyone who has worked here for over ten years. Is there anyone you know who...'

 

The man's face fell. He stared at Strjl as if she was not even there, right through her. His hand reached out as if to try and touch something that was not there, stopped short of nearing her arm. The man gathered himself from the shock, and only then looked up at her curiously.

 

'You wouldn't happen to be Strjl, would you? I'm afraid that you are a little late, if you were hoping to see Hilde Bunansa.'

 

Strjl frowned and shook her head. 'Bunansa? I know a Hilde, but not by that name.'

 

The man laughed, which seemed to come out more bitter than he had intended. He shared a stricken glance with Strjl, looking as lost as she had felt when she had left Eruyt.

 

'It has been a while. She... my name is Cid Bunansa. She loved me enough to make me her widow, which is just like her. My perverse and precious harridan.'

 

Strjl could only take his hand in hers and try to reassure him, wondering all the while what kind of person Hilde could possibly have felt worth marrying. He was such a mess of grief, it seemed, that she would not see the truth of him for some time yet.

 

'It is. Come, take me somewhere quiet, since I appear to be your guest now. I do not like the atmosphere in this place any more.'

 

* * *

 

It was not long into the year when the first bounty hunter came their way. Balthier shared a long, sympathetic conversation with the fool in the Sandsea Tavern, drank him under the table, and was off with his papers, wallet and trousers before twilight had set in the desert. It was a good story – Balthier was as verbose as his father before him, and that was its own kind of entertainment – but in the end their laughter died out. Fran could smell the stench of Archades, worn thin over the distance, in the man's coin.

 

'Is it for virtue of our identity or our actions, do you think? Though it's been at least a year and a half since we last did anything the old man would have noticed...' Balthier steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them, looked down at the papers offering reward for their heads out of one eye then the other.

 

'I wager neither.'

 

'Oh? Don't tell me you've been keeping titbits of Imperial gossip from us?'

 

Fran slid the coins back into their pouch. 'I would not do this. No. But we have enough information to know the real answer.'

 

Balthier rubbed his chin. 'Hrm. One of the Judges Magister using a dirty little side-step to avoid breaking their military jurisdiction. Not for our deaths, but our return. It's got to be in Cid's interest, but I doubt he'd be... Vayne. You don't think?'

 

Fran inclined her head. 'They have been awfully quiet of late. Perhaps there is some technological breakthrough that Vayne wants to reward Cid for, in his own dark way. Perhaps there is something political, that has made the succession to the Bunansa line relevant. Or...'

 

Balthier looked sick. 'Or they have come to realise that some Viera are more sensitive to the Mist than others, better suited for experimentation and data collection.'

 

Fran felt a numbness spread inside her, as it had that day in the Draklor laboratories. 'If we evade this one, they will only send others. You would know who?'

 

'Ba'Gamnan, I am sure of it. If they are serious about this, they will one day send their very dearest of back-stabbers.'

 

It was a hard decision to make, but for all their experience now they had little hope of hiding from a bounty hunter as experienced as Ba'Gamnan. His kind did not give up.

 

'If I were to return, they may let you-'

 

'No, for fuck's... no! You and I, Fran, we don't do that kind of thing. _They_ do, not us. We're better than that. Besides, if they're after Bunansa blood yours won't slake any of their thirst. And we don't do that kind of thing.'

 

Fran nodded absently. 'If I had not suggested if of my self, you would of yours.'

 

'You would have protested against it.'

 

She reached across the table to grasp his hands in her own. Still so small, so young, too young. He tried to cover it up with rings, now. All over his fingers.

 

'So, we shall run then.'

 

Balthier wrinkled his nose and squeezed her hands. 'Sky pirates never run, my dear lady, unless it is towards the prize.'


End file.
